


Hello, Young Lovers

by senorbunnicula



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Yakov is secretly a marshmallow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:52:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9322412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senorbunnicula/pseuds/senorbunnicula
Summary: Five times Yakov thought Victor and Yuuri were kind of adorable, and one time he actually said something.





	

**1.**

 

“Yakov! Hello!”

 

Yakov Feltsman closes his eyes and prays to a God he doesn’t actually believe in for patience as Victor Nikiforov’s voice rings out across the rink.

 

Heaving a sigh, he turns around as his once-again student strides towards him, hand-in-hand with Yuuri Katsuki. “Vitya,” he says shortly, nodding. “I see you’ve finally returned.”

 

Victor beams at him, the shameless child. “You remember Yuuri, don’t you?” he asks guilelessly, tugging the other man forward. Katsuki murmurs something in protest that Yakov doesn’t hear, and Victor just laughs and leans in to press a kiss to Katsuki’s temple. “He’s going to practice here, with me, now; isn’t that great?”

 

Yakov nods brusquely at Katsuki--who is a good skater when he lets himself be, and seems like a decent kid--before returning his gaze to Victor. “You’ve had some ridiculous ideas in the past, Vitya, but you can’t actually be serious about your plan to coach him and compete against him at the same time,” he growls in Russian.

 

Victor’s grin widens. “Of course I’m going to coach Yuuri and compete at the same time, Yakov!” he exclaims, in English, because he’s a troublesome boy who doesn’t know the meaning of the word _discretion_. “It’s what Yuuri wants, after all,” and at this, he turns to share a soft smile with Katsuki, who shyly smiles back before ducking his head, blushing as he darts a glance towards Yakov.

 

Yakov sighs again, but indulgently. He remembers sharing such a look with Lilia, once upon a time. Victor is, more often than not, an _idiot boy,_ but at least an idiot boy _in love_ is something Yakov can understand.

 

 

**2.**

 

“I cannot take it for _another moment,_ Yakov, _make them stop._ ”

 

“What’s the problem now, Yuri?” Yakov looks up from his notebook, where he’s been sketching out a possible new short program for Georgi.

 

(“I want it to be about a man who conquers adversity!” Georgi exclaims.

 

“Adversity,” Yakov repeats, hoping that _just maybe_ Georgi is moving on from--

 

“Yes, and comes out strengthened by a new power he discovers within himself.” Georgi’s eyes hold a familiar fervor, and Yakov suddenly needs a drink.

 

“The power of love, I assume,” Yakov says flatly. So much for that hope, then.

 

“Yes, Yakov! Love! Not false love that tricks you, but _real and true._ Like Victor and Yuuri! And me and Katya!”

 

 _What did I do to deserve this?_ Yakov thinks wearily as he nods, resigned.)

 

“The katsudon and stupid Victor!” Yuri exclaims now, arms akimbo. “They’re _mooning_ over each other in public; it’s disgusting.”

 

Yakov looks up in time to see Vitya raising Katsuki’s hand to his lips and kissing the ring on his finger. Yakov can’t see Katsuki’s face from here, but he’s probably got that look again like Vitya hung the stars in the sky.

 

“It’ll wear off eventually,” Yakov says knowingly, with a remembered pang at the thought.

 

Yuri grunts and rolls his eyes. “It had better,” he grumbles before skating across the ice towards the other men. “Stop flirting on the ice, losers!” he shouts, and Katsuki jerks away from Vitya.

 

“Save it for your program, Vitya,” Yakov calls, and Vitya laughs and waves at him before skating backwards away from Katsuki, blowing the other skater a kiss before turning and launching into a perfect triple axel.

 

Yakov allows himself the smallest of smiles as he turns back to his notebook.

 

 

**3.**

 

“What is the problem?” Yakov asks, looking down at Vitya’s student.

 

“I’m sorry, Coach Feltsman,” says Yuuri, his eyes on his skates.

 

“Your toeloop was sloppy out there,” Yakov replies. “You need to fix it before your program.”

 

“Yes, Coach Feltsman,” and Yakov sees the young man’s shoulders slump.

 

 _Be sweet with him, Yakov,_ he suddenly remembers Vitya telling him before he’d left for his own competition, and while Yakov’s never been very good at being sweet (as Lilia can attest), he can at least try to be a little less brusque.

 

“You are thinking of Vitya, yes?” he asks, and Yuuri finally looks up at him.

 

“Vitya has been skating in competitions for many years,” Yakov says, hoping his tone is reassuring. “He will skate wonderfully, and he will win, and then he will come back.”

 

Yuuri nods. “I‘m not worried about that,” he says. “I am afraid I will disappoint him by not doing well without him here.”

 

Yakov sighs and sits down next to the younger man. “This program,” he says, gesturing out at the rink, then to Yuuri himself. “He made it _for you,_ yes? You skate it _for him,_ yes?”

 

Yuuri nods again.

 

“Then,” Yakov takes a deep breath, “you skate it for him _now_ and you _win_ and then you tell him this when he returns.”  

 

 _And then he will do that thing where he_ **_kisses_ ** _your_ **_medal_** _, of all the ridiculously soppy romantic gestures,_ he doesn't say.

 

 _It is a little adorable,_ he **_definitely_** doesn’t say.

 

Yuuri’s dark eyes fill with hope. “You think I can win, Coach Feltsman?” he asks breathlessly.

 

Yakov tries his best to glower. These two idiotic lovebirds are making him lose his touch, damn them. “You are Yuuri Katsuki, and you are skating a program choreographed by Victor Nikiforov,” he says sternly. “Of course you can.”

 

And Yuuri does.

 

 

**4.**

 

“I’m disappointed in you, Yakov,” says Lilia, staring out at the ice.

 

Yakov turns to look at her. “What have I done _now?_ ” he asks, defensive.

 

She nods towards the rink, where Yuuri Katsuki runs through his new short program. “You kept him from me,” she says. “Look at him. He’s beautiful.”

 

Yakov, a little stunned, stammers, “I believe he was trained in ballet for many years.”

 

“Are we talking about my Yuuri?” Vitya pipes up from _nowhere,_ and Yakov and Lilia turn to see Vitya sitting on a bench about three rows up. “Isn’t he _divine?”_

 

“Where did he learn ballet?” Lilia demands.

 

“In Hasetsu,” says Vitya. “He was a dancer before he was a skater; in fact, it was his ballet instructor who encouraged him onto the ice.” He sighs and places one hand over his heart. “I owe her so much.”

 

 _So dramatic, Vitya,_ Yakov thinks, rolling his eyes.

 

Lilia narrows her eyes at Vitya. “Why hasn’t he been coming to my studio?” she demands. She turns to Yakov. “Have you been preventing him?”

 

“Nothing of the sort, Madam Baranovskaya,” says Vitya soothingly. “Yakov would never. But Yuuri and I did not want to presume anything--”

 

“He will come every morning,” Lilia interrupts. “Seven o’clock. He deserves nothing less than _my_ instruction, is that clear?”

 

Vitya beams at her, and Yakov is certain that Vitya would hug Lilia, if he wasn’t afraid she might tear his arms off. “Madam,” Vitya says, and the love and pride in his voice is clear, “we would be honored.”

 

“Not you,” says Lilia shortly. “Him.”

 

And with that, she turns and strides away.

 

Yakov turns to Vitya, whose smile only widens. “I love it when people see Yuuri as I do,” says Vitya warmly, and Yakov turns away to hide his own smile.

 

  

**5.**

 

“Ah, Yakov! Ciao ciao!”

 

Yakov turns and sees Celestino Cialdini striding up to him. “Celestino,” he says, raising his glass in salute as the other coach sits down on the stool next to him.

 

“Good to see you again,” says Celestino as he waves over the bartender. “It’s been a while.”

 

Yakov nods. “Since Worlds, I think.”

 

Celestino nods thoughtfully. “I think you’re right.” His gaze turns to a television mounted behind the bar, where clips of that day’s Short Programs are replaying. Yuuri Katsuki glides across the screen, and Celestino gestures at the television. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of him,” he says. “He’s come so far in the last couple of years.”

 

Yakov nods. “He’s good.”

 

“He always was,” says Celestino fondly, taking a sip from the glass set in front of him. “But now he actually knows it.”

 

“Vitya won’t let him forget it,” says Yakov. “Nor anyone else within half a kilometer of Yuuri Katsuki,” he adds, a trifle wearily.

 

Celestino laughs. “Ah, young love,” he says. “I remember those days.”

 

Yakov grunts. “You wouldn’t be so indulgent if you had to watch them every time they practice,” he grumbles into his glass.

 

Celestino laughs again. “That must be _your_ student’s doing,” he says. “Yuuri was never the type for such public affection.”

 

Yakov thinks about Yuuri Katsuki’s first programs as Vitya’s student, and about the time Yuuri had come to him in Barcelona and quietly asked about Russian birthday traditions, and about all the times Yuuri and Vitya have kissed each other’s rings before their competitions, and snorts.

 

“Maybe not _then_ ,” he says. “But Vitya _always_ has been, and Yuuri Katsuki is nothing if not an excellent student.”  

 

 

 

**+1.**

 

“Yakov, have you ordered your tuxedo yet?”

 

Yakov looks up. “My tuxedo?” he echoes.

 

Vitya nods. “Yes, for the wedding?”

 

“Why do I need a tuxedo?” asks Yakov, bewildered. “The invitation didn’t say it was that formal.”

 

“No,” says Vitya, “but the whole wedding party is wearing them.”

 

Yakov is still confused. “What does that have to do with me?”

 

Vitya’s face turns a bit sheepish. “Did...did I forget to ask you about that? About being in the wedding with me?”

 

Yakov stares at Vitya. Sometimes, he cannot believe this boy is actually real. “Yes, you did.”

 

“Oh! Well, then.” Vitya reaches out and takes one of Yakov’s hands between his own. “Yakov,” he says, and his voice and expression are suddenly serious. “Will you represent my family at my wedding?”

 

Yakov is touched. He’s known Victor Nikiforov since he was seven years old, a tiny thing with determination beyond his years shining from his eyes, and he knows all about Victor’s relationship with the rest of the Nikiforov family.

 

He remembers an eighteen-year-old Victor coming to him after a final horrible trip to his parents’ house and blithely asking, “I’m thinking of changing my patronymic to Yakovlevich, do you mind?” as though it wasn’t anything important at all, and Yakov had been so flabbergasted he hadn’t been able to reply for a solid minute.

 

“Yakov?”

 

Yakov jerks himself out of his thoughts and meets Vitya’s eyes. “I thought I already was your family,” he says, ignoring the way his voice has gone a bit rough.

 

Vitya beams and throws his arms around Yakov’s waist. “Thank you,” he murmurs into Yakov’s neck, and Yakov sighs and pats his head.

 

“You better treat that boy as he deserves,” he says, and Victor laughs and kisses Yakov’s cheek.

 

“I knew you loved us, Yakov,” he says, voice smug.

 

“Not in my rink, I don’t,” Yakov grumbles, but returns Victor’s hug.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://senorbunnicula.tumblr.com/)!


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